


Dick’s California King

by tinkerheck



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Other, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkerheck/pseuds/tinkerheck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Bat Siblings crash, this is where they end up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dick’s California King

++++++++  _Disclaimer & story notes ++++++++_

I do not own Batman, or any of the Batman characters or situations, in any of their forms or related medias.

I spent money to learn about this series, and I make no money in borrowing it.

 

++++++++  _story notes ++++++++_

I recently got into the whole Bat Family thing, falling in love with the whole Robins thing and becoming a serious BabsDick shipper. As it is recent, however, my history is still weak. For this one-shot, I played _à la carte_ with the canon (as I usually do with all my fandom fics). I included glimpses of what I know of it, filtered further by what I _like_ of it. So it would probably be easiest if you considered this an Alternate Universe Fic. For this little corner of time, Barbara can walk, and Damian is not dead, and how they got to that point doesn’t matter.

Tags & warnings:  Intense sibling rivalry, annoyance & love. And baaaad language.

This fic features girls and boys of varying ages from ten or so to oh I don’t know maybe twenty-five sleeping together in the same bed who are mostly siblings even though they have absolutely no blood relation to each other and it is _not_ about sex. Much to the (eventual) vexation of Dick Grayson.

I have no respect for overly-organized religions, or the zealots that follow them, because they have  _no_ respect for me. If I have written something that illustrates this perspective and it offends you, please simply stop reading this fic.

Rated PG-13 for language, and implied violence.

 

++++++++  _chapter notes ++++++++_

I fly beta-less. Please forgive the typos.

Now then. Let’s have some fun abusing characters I do not own.  :)

 

 

 

+

 

 

**_~ Dick’s California King_ ** **~**

A Bat Family One Shot Fan Fiction

 

 

 

+

 

 

 

If a certain sort of slumber party was going on at Wayne Manor, rest assured it would involve bandages or worse, and it would end up in Dick Grayson’s room. When they crash, when they are hurt, when their patience for all that’s wrong with the world is taxed beyond reason, this is where it ends up: in Dick’s room.

Or more specifically, Dick’s _California King-sized_ bed.

Even Bruce doesn’t sleep in a bed _that_ big. But that’s Dick for you… Loves to go all out, loves his sleep, loves his hugs, loves cereal, loves to swing  & tumble, loves to touch, loves a group effort. Loves his Bat Family - all of them, no matter what they may think. Even Jason.

Dick is good at the love. How can that much love possible fit in a smaller bed?

Alfred Pennyworth – Butler, Surgeon, the Grandfather Bat - does not sleep there. He’s far too dignified for that. When they return home to roost, he just silently thanks a higher power that they aren’t having to bury one of them, then he stitches them up, runs a bath, and lets them know when the food will be served.

He keeps all their respective crap together so that everyone else _can_ sleep in the California King.

Kate Kane, Batwoman, who has warned them all _not_ to call her the ‘Mother Bat’ under threat of a serious beating, also does not sleep there. The kids seem to think it’s because she may as well be the female Bruce, what with her mission and sequestering and fortune and _brooding._ But the truth of it is that she has her own reasons why.

Bruce Wayne - Father Bat, _The_ Batman - does in fact sleep there, but rarely. His youngest, Damian, is very proud, so he’ll fake being brave, and then fake being asleep, and then will refuse to let go of his father… and voilà, Bruce takes a turn in the California King.

He doesn’t mind. He secretly relishes it, in fact. His Baby Bats do tend to grow up so very fast… Or die…

But mostly it’s the varying members of the Robins and the Batgirls. They who call themselves _The Bat Siblings_. Sometimes it’s just one or two of them. Sometimes it’s more. Sometimes it was the same mission that brought them to the bed, or it was separate patrols on the same night.

The circumstances are rarely the same, but where they end up, and why _,_ is _always_ the same.

One time, on a very hot night in August, Bruce got lucky when he found them _all_ sleeping together in the California King.

He says “lucky” - although how much luck there is in cuts, scrapes, knife and bullet wounds, dislocated shoulders, and the rest… well, yes, ‘luck’ is the wrong word. It was fortuitous that, after returning late from his own fresh hell that night, he decided to peek in to see if anyone extra was going to be around for breakfast.

What he saw tugged at his heart. A pile of sleeping Bats, his children, _all of them,_ out cold in their jammies, sporting bandages and braces. They were close to one another, in various positions that could only be interpreted as “I love you” or “that scared me” or “mine” or “keep away” or “I’m tolerating this because I’m exhausted”.

Alfred had been waiting up for him, as usual, and Bruce was politely informed that it had been one very long, difficult night in Gotham for his children. Divergent Bat Patrols, each one chasing after their own gang, suddenly came together. Separate skirmishes culminated into one big battle of Good Bats versus Bad Hoodlums. It was a harrowing mess of abrasions and sprains, and worse… Knives and guns were pulled on them, and were subsequently taken away – because not for nothing are they members of The Bat Family.

There were also illegal weapons and drugs that were confiscated as evidence. That led to arrests, and gratitude – so, it had been worth it (mostly because no one died).

They returned to the Manor as a whole that night, a united but wounded band of sisters and brothers. Their brains were more than a little scattered at some of the close calls they either experienced first hand, or worse, witnessed. No one, Bat or otherwise, can handle seeing a sibling in dire peril without freaking out a little.

Everyone was bruised and bleeding. All of them needed stitches. Dick sprained an ankle, which thoroughly pissed him off. Barbara got a nasty cut in her upper arm from landing on a jagged piece of rebar, which pissed Dick off even further. Avoiding a grenade blast, Jason and Cassie dove from a first floor window together and landed on a garbage receptacle. On the way down, they each tried to break the other one’s fall, and consequently neither one of them succeeded. Stephanie cracked a rib when she fell to the pavement after a dilapidated fire escape literally disintegrated in her gloved hands. The worst injury of the night was Tim’s. After running to help an unconscious Stephanie, he managed to pull her out of the way of more falling debris, but suffered a bad conk to the head when a large piece fell on him - no concussion, thankfully.

Not much was said. What was there to talk about? ‘Bad guys lost, none of us got dead’ about summed it up for all of them. Except for Damian, who had suffered just one laceration resulting in three measly stitches. He had a lot to say; things like _Suckers_ and _Who’s the Better Bat? **Me** , that’s who, _until Jason smacked him on the back of his head and Dick glared at him in a way that looked exactly like Father Bat. A very _angry_ Father Bat.

Chagrined, the littlest Bat sat next to Barbara for companionship the rest of the way home. Well… to be precise, he sat _behind_ her. For protection.

Alfred worked his medical miracles. The less battered Bats helped the more battered ones into warm bubble baths and hot showers. By the end, they fell into the California King, one after the other - squeaky clean, medicated, stitched, bandaged, fed and hydrated - and then fell asleep mercifully fast.

Now, hours later, Father Bat smiled indulgently, watching his children in the dim light of Dick’s room.

Damian Wayne, also known as Robin, Mini Bat or The Assassin, was being cuddled by the only one patient enough to put up with his crap that night, Barbara Gordon - Batgirl, Oracle, _The_ Batgirl, Still kind of a Bird of Prey. That may have seemed odd if you knew Babs and Damian only as co-supers, but the fact was that in private, at least, the kid sought out Barbara’s embraces more than he’d ever admit. Big sisters and baby brothers just behave like that.

Barbara had Dick Grayson - Nightwing, Also Batman, Renegade, Big Bird… and Barbara’s sometime lover… spooned at her back. Dick held her tight in his arms, being careful to avoid the wound in her arm. His left arm was snaked between Barbara’s torso and the mattress, with his hand splayed flat against her stomach, _keeping_ her to him. His right hand had a tight grip on the sleeve of Damian’s t-shirt, hanging onto his little brother as best he could, given the kid’s _get the fuck away from me_ disposition.

Damian’s back was plastered to Barbara’s front, qualifying her as a spooner as well. The little boy’s arms were trying to stay poker straight, and failing miserably, as they pushed against the (unstuffed and politely modest, thank you very much) chest of Stephanie Brown – Used-to-be-a-Robin, Baby Batgirl, Spoiler. It almost looked as though he was trying to keep her girl cooties away from his person, but it should be noted that his little, deadly hands were clutching thick sections of her blonde hair at the same time. One of Stephanie’s hands was wrapped around Dick’s wrist where he held Damian’s shirt. Her other arm was stretched out under Damian’s head, and her fingers curled sweetly against Barbara’s neck.

Tim Drake - sensitive, intelligent Baby Bird, The Urban Legend, Red Robin - lay on his side next to Stephanie, his back glued firmly to hers. His front was against the back of Cassandra Cain – Black Bat, Sometimes Batgirl, the Nothing. Their positions proved that Tim was yet another spooner, it bieng something he learned the value of from Dick at a young age - but with two Girl Bats on either side of him, this was more of a sandwich than a spoon. His right arm was slung loosely backwards, draped across Stephanie’s hip, as though making sure she was staying put. His left was curled under Cassie’s waist, mirroring Dick’s hold on Barbara. Quiet, serious Cassandra had one hand on Tim’s forearm and the other one clutched in the rudely decorated t-shirt of their other bookend of a bedmate for that night, Jason Todd.

Jason – Almost Batman, Red Hood, Little Wing - did not seem the type to allow such contact, yet the top of Cassie’s dark head was firmly snuggled against the underside of his chin. Tallest and biggest of the bunch, Jason therefore had great reach. His left arm was draped all the way across Cassie’s and Tim’s hips where his hand held onto Tim’s forearm, keeping it in place on Stephanie’s hip - or, not letting any of them get too far away from his own touch, one could not tell. Probably both. Jason’s right arm was acting as pillow to Cassie, Tim _and_ Stephanie, and it was even long enough (or perhaps it was because they were all cuddled up so close) that his fingertips were grazing the top of Damian’s head.

They were all touching, or shoved against, or gripping, or clutching, or spooning, or holding each other. They were each in contact with at least two others. Some, _four_ others.

_Amazing_.

It took everything Bruce had to walk away from this vision and sprint to his room, quickly grabbing his stealthiest, quietest camera. He returned to take both stills and videos. Proud of himself for managing to catch this rare moment, and even more proud of _them,_ he smiled down at his pile of children, so quiet and still, so affectionate and protective - at least, for _now_ they were. He was about to leave them to their slumber when he started looking closer.

Not being able to help himself, World’s Greatest Detective and overprotective Father Bat that he was, he began cataloging their injuries. He started assessing their sleeping positions and making educated guesses as to which ones were going to be sore in the morning, where, and for what reasons. Which ones would be feigning anger that they let ‘that one’ sleep so close (likely Damian to Stephanie, or on a more volatile interpretation for the same reason, Tim to Damian _for_ Stephanie) and which one would be smug with regard to whom they snagged for the night (Dick, that was _always_ Dick. And if he got Barbara, like he had this time, he would be extra specially-smug).

Bruce knew they were too tired, too injured, or most likely too rattled from the events of that evening to wake easily. He also knew the process of waking up was going to be absolutely priceless.

This opportunity was not going to come twice. So he snuck down the hall to wake up Grandfather Bat and told him what was going on. Within eight minutes, together they had hidden five cameras to capture the contents of the California King, all with unique and interesting vantage points.

“This is going to be hilarious. I can’t wait to share it with Selina and Kate,” he whispered, as they walked down the long, dark hallway outside of Dick’s bedroom. There was a small, mischievous smile on Bruce’s lips and tinge of excitement in his voice, and _that_ made Alfred smile. See, even _Father Bat_ was a smug bastard at times.

Where do you think they all got it?

 

+

 

Silence.

Just freaking _hours_ of it.

Then-

 

+

 

“What the fuck, my _arm_ –”

“Ow! Jason, that hurt!”

“Shut up, Cassie! I can’t feel my fucking _arm_ anymore!”

“Oh my god, so _loud_ , my head-”

“Tim, take some damn aspirin and go away. Some of us want to sleep s’more.” This from a very drowsy Dick Grayson, who let go of Damian’s shirt and pulled Barbara closer to him - and away from the boy in her arms. In her place, a rush of cool air hit Damian’s back, waking both his body and his ire.

“Grayson, stop hogging Barbara, you fucking man-whore.” He managed to reach behind his back and pry one of Dick’s hands away from Barbara’s waist, flipping over in the process and reclaiming her warm torso for his own.

Unfortunately, Damian didn’t completely let go of Stephanie’s hair when he changed positions, and managed to pull some of it out.

_“Owch!_ You little brat, that was my _hair!”_

“So? If it’s such a nuisance, cut it off.” He yawned, adding, “Shut up anyway, bitch, I’m _sleepy.”_

“Damian Wayne!” Barbara shrieked, smacking him on the head. _“Language!”_

“Babs - Jesus, my ears!” Dick groused.

“Mine as well, Grayson. From your _whining_ ,” Cassie muttered, climbing over Todd to be the first one to get out of bed.

“Cassie, God _dammit,”_ Jason thundered, when she stepped on his injured leg.

“Fuck off,” she barked.

Unabashed at being clad only in a pair of short shorts and a plain tank top - given that the rest of them weren’t wearing much more either, and really, in the grand scheme of things, there wasn’t much on any of them that the other ones hadn’t already seen - Cassie muttered more obscenities to herself as she checked her bandages and stomped out of the room, away from _them_ , down the hall, to her _own_ bedroom.

“Oh, my _hair,”_ Stephanie continued to pout, sounding miserable.

“It’ll grow back and you aren’t bleeding, so stifle it, will you?” Barbara sighed.

“Yes, _please,”_ Dick added around a yawn, being careful to avoid Barbara’s bare skin with his stubbly chin.

“But… but the ends! They aren’t _even_ anymore!”

Damian snickered viciously.

_“Stop_ _teasing Steph!”_ Tim yelled, then grabbed his aching head again. “Oh _man…”_

“Oh for fuck’s sake, this is _bullshit_ ,” Jason bristled, sitting up and examining the now bleeding wound on his arm. “I was everyone’s goddamn _pillow_ last night, and _what_ do I get as a thank you? You pulled the fuckin’ stitches. Fucking _great.”_

Now fully back in his standard mode of Pissed Off, Jason got out of bed roughly - and while the California King was a very, very nice bed, it was _not_ made of memory foam. Tim clutched at his bandaged head and moaned further as the entire thing lurched like a ship on rough seas.

“It hurts… everything is spinning…”

_“Ooooooh…_ Poor widdle Baby Bird, oos not gonna _cwie_ now, are woo?”

Barbara tried to hide her smile, because loved Tim, she really did… but she also had a deep, silent appreciation of Damian’s sharp tongue. His mouth seemed to be capable of shifting from Vienna Boy’s Choir to Genius Truck Driver in a matter of seconds.

“I’m _not_ crying, you vicious little hellion, and stop calling me that! My _head hurts!”_ Tim closed his eyes and cradled his head. “Ow, ow, ow… _”_

Stephanie climbed over Tim, inhaling sharply because of the cracked rib, but also impatient to get away. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Tim! Go to your own room and lay down already - what about my _hair?_ Damian’s _ruined_ it.” She could be heard sniveling in the hallway.

With a helpful but nasty shove courtesy of Damian’s cold feet, Tim managed to roll pathetically to the edge of the California King. Barbara grimaced as he literally poured himself off the bed onto the hardwood floor below. Poor Timmy crawled away on his hands and knees, joining the exodus.

Concerned, Barbara lifted her head just to make sure Tim wasn’t _truly_ dying – his head wound had actually been the trickiest injury of the night. But when she moved, Dick pulled her closer out of fear she was leaving next.

“You’re staying _put_. It’s just us now, sweetie.” He nuzzled her ear. “The _Dynamite_ Duo. The _originals,”_ Dick whispered.

“Oh, lovely,” Damian growled. “He’s gone sentimental.”

“Are you still here?” Dick asked casually. “Sorry, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Dick… play nice.”

“But Babs, honey, why indulge him? Next thing you know he’ll have the dog, all the cats _and_ the cow in my bed.”

“The California King hardly qualifies as _‘your’_ bed anymore, and my animals would be more intelligent company than you… _Circus Boy.”_

Knowing an argument was not far off, Barbara sighed, and started to pull their steely hands away from her body. Suddenly, desperate whispers of _No!_ and _Stay!_ were heard from the opposing camps.

“The loud, rude people are gone… Let’s you n’me just _cuddle_ ,” Dick whispered, kissing the back of Barbara’s neck.

“Ugh! Stop being disgusting! I’m right _here_ , you moron.”

“Just be quiet and I won’t care… We can share her, little brother,” Dick returned smoothly.

“What makes you think I need your _permission_ to stay, Grayson?” Damian quipped, letting go of Barbara’s shirt to reach up and clasp onto Dick’s wrist, silently declaring a truce and trapping the poor woman where she lay between them. The boys sighed, sulking but content with their half of the warm, soft, red-headed prize, even though they secretly wished the other one would just _go away._

They were Bat Brothers to the core, but their motives couldn’t have been more different. Dick has a complex about Barbara, while Damian has a complex about _Napoleon_ , so neither one of them wanted to share.

Barbara Gordon fought like hell to quell the urge to give them both an earful for treating her like so much property, but that was mainly because she had other, more pressing matters to attend to.

Big Bird and Mini Bat enjoyed Warm Batgirl for all of eight seconds, before she went and spoke.

“Um… Guys?”

“What?” they hissed in unison, exasperated.

“I _really_ have to pee.”

  

~fin

  

+++++++++++

Notes: Recently & _greatly_ influenced by:

The marvelous nicknames, canon or not, in _Big Bird, Little Wing, Baby Bird, and Mini Bat_ , written by [Savy160](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5270907/Savy160) on fanfiction dot net,  _A Pile of Robins_ by [MGNemesi](http://mgnemesi.deviantart.com/) on DeviantArt dot com,  and _Unmasked_ by Quirkilicious on DeviantArt dot com.

If you read it, please review it


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